


Sweetest of Them All

by Barkour



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: During Canon, Established Relationship, M/M, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-25 04:01:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4945933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barkour/pseuds/Barkour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A decidedly unpleasant evening at Halamshiral for the Bull and Dorian takes a far more pleasant turn in a room of mirrors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweetest of Them All

**Author's Note:**

> My entry for [Wham! Splat! Porn!](http://wham-splat-porn.tumblr.com/) I was tagged by the lovely [Cyberfairie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyberfairie/pseuds/Cyberfairie) (please read her fic!) with the prompt of "mirrors."

All the excitement passed, and the party dragged on. Orlesians, thought the Bull. He quaffed another glass of the deliciously sweet punch and put it in the hand of a passing nobleman.

"Pardon me," said the nobleman. The feathers on the man's mask might have ruffled. "I am not _your_ servant, monsieur bête."

"You are a petty man stinking of fermented potatoes," the Bull told him in qunlat. Smiling cheerily, he clapped the man's shoulder and moved on.

The crowd parted for him. Crowds often did. On Seheron they had joked the bas were like mice, scattering before a cat. The Bull avoided this slithering trail waiting for him in his head, and instead he thought of cats. Sleek, fussy cats with long tongues and neat claws, or large, fat cats comfortable in their superiority and happy to snooze on top of the posts in the practice yard.

A woman in a split mask, half silver, half gold, styled as the moon and the sun, fluttered her fingers at the Bull as he passed. Red hair. Swollen bosom, packed high. He ignored her and continued his aimless patrol.

Another hour. Perhaps two. He'd done worse, though not in years. Easier, with a companion to walk with him.

"I've been looking for you." As summoned, Dorian slipped cozily to the Bull's side. He did not fit to him, but demanded the Bull make space.

"Should be easy to find," said the Bull, looking down to him. Dorian fussed with his gloves, checking the insides of the wrists. "These peacocks are puny. Loud as hell, too."

"No more insults to my family, if you please."

"What, you, loud?" The Bull set his hand at Dorian's back and made a dismissive, brushing gesture with it. "Never heard it."

"Don't insult my senses, either."

The Bull hummed lowly. Dorian snorted his response and tugged a glove higher on his wrist, then the other, same.

"What I'd like to insult," said the Bull, "is your jacket."

"I think I look good in red."

"Shit, yeah."

Dorian muttered, "Now who's loud?"

"You look like you soaked that wool in blood."

"Disgusting," said Dorian, "an offensive stereotype, and also something about your specialization. That dragon blood nonsense."

"Not about that," said the Bull. He turned to Dorian, in a cool corner, a far shadow of the ballroom where he could trust his bulk to seal Dorian from sight. "I want to fuck you." His hand was light, easily shook off, on Dorian's arm.

Dorian looked up at the Bull with eyes lidded, the mole on his cheek arched by his smile. With the Bull's hand cupping his biceps, Dorian slid his own palms slowly up the expanse of the Bull's chest. A thumb flicked over one gold button.

"Yes," said Dorian, lip a deep curve beneath his mustache, "I imagine you do."

The Bull stepped forward. Dorian curled his fingers in the stiff brocade collar of the uniform.

"Where were you hiding?"

"Far from the gossips," said Dorian.

The Bull dropped his voice. "They giving you shit?"

Typically, Dorian's lashes fluttered at the growl; his nose flared. Even the ends of his mustache, neatly waxed, trembled. No fainting naif, he. Dorian lifted his eyes again, and his brow was set, his jaw strong.

"Only the usual," said Dorian, his voice, too, dropped. His hands were strong, framing the Bull's throat. "The evil magister, trying to spoil our monarchy. To slip Tevinter's long nails into Orlais' throat."

"You could slip 'em in mine."

"Well, if you beg nicely."

"Talk about your stereotypes," said the Bull. "Evil magister Dorian Pavus."

"Not so loudly," said Dorian, "you'll spoil the surprise." 

He withdrew then, to the Bull's disappointment. The Bull had thought them well en route to the sort of kiss that would scandalize all the pompous gold-eaters. A qunari and a Tevinter, tongues down each other's throats. What sort of alliance, this.

"Where you running off to?" He caught Dorian's hand. 

Dorian dimpled darkly. A challenge, then. A handsome man, with a broad jaw: won't you try and stop me, he said.

"I know something you don't know," Dorian said.

"Oh, shit," said the Bull, "were those real birds at dinner?"

"No, you'll like this one." Dorian paused. "Well--yes, those were real birds. It's a delicacy, roasted whole--"

"That's barbaric."

"They're dead first," said Dorian, "I don't see how that's any worse than you eating two whole boxes of chocolate--"

"Chocolate's not tiny helpless birds stuck in an oven--"

"The boxes were addressed to me," Dorian hissed.

"I don't remember that," the Bull lied. They'd been good chocolates, too. "I'll buy you better ones."

"As you should!"

"But it's still bullshit, feeding a guy baby birds."

"They weren't--" 

Dorian made a frustrated sound, a horrible grumping noise in his throat. The Bull stepped closer again. He'd a thought to bite at Dorian's throat. That grumble he'd made rolled in the Bull's skin.

"Just come with me."

"You first," said the Bull, grinning.

*

Dorian played coy, leading the Bull through the hallways. They ducked once, to escape the notice of a hurrying maid, arms laden with linens folded and stacked high.

Dorian stood on his toes and gripped the Bull's nape. He murmured to the Bull's lips, "You ought to trust me. This isn't my first time wandering off for a private soiree."

"Not mine either." Their lips brushed. Dorian settled on his heels. "Though mine were probably, uh. Bloodier."

Dorian rolled his eyes, a slight movement, half hid by the low light.

"Follow."

"Bossy."

"Lippy."

"Flirt," said the Bull, and he followed Dorian. 

"Sure you know where you're going?"

"Am I Aginas, turning his map around in the Hinterlands?"

"Aginas asks for directions."

"Ah! Here it is," said Dorian brightly. 

He twiddled the fingers of one hand before the Bull, to show off the little sparks webbing between them.

"That kind of rendezvous, huh," said the Bull. "I don't got any creams." 

He cut off as Dorian twisted the door knob. Footsteps, at the next corner. The bobbing light of a candle, held in hand. Dorian threw his shoulder to the door, twisted the knob; the door open and they fell together into the room.

Dorian hid his face in the Bull's breast to stifle his laughing. 

"You're the one who doesn't want to get caught."

"Imagine," Dorian said, rasping, "some poor servant shitting themselves to see a qunari and a Tevinter, breaking into a room."

The Bull glanced around the room, sizing it. No windows. The one door. Strange, gleaming shadows filled the floor. 

Dorian said, "Oh, yes, a moment," and he reached across the Bull to touch a sparking finger to the fat and rounded glowstone set in the sconce by the door. Light expanded from it. 

Shadows lingered in the corners, along the back wall, but the mirrors set all about the room glittered and shone. White cloth sat in untidy heaps at each mirror stand's feet.

"What kind of creepy ass..."

"It's a storage room," said Dorian, at the Bull's back now, "not a summoning." His hand stroked along the Bull's shoulders, fingers dragging in a caress over the wool coat.

It clicked. "Ohhh," said the Bull. "You're seducing me."

"No," said Dorian lowly, richly, one finger tracing the shape of the Bull's ear, "I'm going to suck you off while you watch. And then, because I'm very bad, I'm going to lick you clean until you're ready to fuck me."

"Shit, they were right." The Bull caught Dorian's wandering hand and pulled the fingers to his mouth. "You're a depraved 'vint after all."

"Oh, very depraved." Dorian smirked at the Bull even as the Bull sucked Dorian's fingertips into his mouth. "You should have heard some of the things they were saying about me out there."

"I'll knock their heads off." The Bull stepped forward, ushering Dorian backwards on his feet. He ran his tongue along the underside of three fingers, to see Dorian's breath catch in his throat. "Ream their asses."

"I'd rather you ream mine," said Dorian. He said it lightly, but oh, how dark his pale eyes, how swollen the pupils. "Take off your pants now."

"Always bossing me around."

"I thought you liked a mouthy bottom."

"Hell yeah I do," said the Bull, and he reached around to smack Dorian's fat ass.

Dorian jumped. The Bull's eye was on the mirror sidelong of them. How Dorian's back arched: the minute tipping of his head as his chin rose. The Bull's balls felt heavy, warm. 

"Take your shirt off," the Bull said, and Dorian shivered but obeyed. The Bull worked at his belt, undoing the buckle. 

Dorian stripped from his coat, then the linen shirt beneath; a sleeveless shirt, thin, just disguised the tightened points of his nipples, the gold ring piercing the left.

"That, too," said the Bull, as he finished undoing the buttons of his uniform trousers. 

Complaining under his breath of the chilled floor, Dorian nonetheless obeyed this too. The muscles worked under his brown skin, his chest pulled tightly up as his arms stretched over his head. If he'd a bed and rope, the Bull would tie Dorian's ankles to the post in a bottom corner and his wrists together in a top corner, Dorian a dark slash across the white sheets, muscles taut and skin gleaming with sweat.

"I've taken my shirt off," said Dorian, "yet you're still sporting your trousers."

The Bull shrugged, only to see Dorian's tongue flash across his lips, the tip brushing one side of his mustache. The Bull grinned, showing his teeth.

"Thought you'd like it." The Bull reached into the part to free his cock, half thicked from the walk, the anticipation. Idly he tucked his hand into the trousers to cup his balls. "Make you feel like you got me pushed to the edge."

Dorian's mouth sloped. "Mm. Yes. Shoved you to the wall--"

"Overpowered me."

Dorian sank to his knees. His hands, braced on either side of the Bull's chest, slipped low to the Bull's hips, lower to his thighs.

"Wrenched your belt open. Popped those buttons."

The Bull thrust fractionally, to see his cock head glance and bob along Dorian's high, broad cheek. Fluttering lashes, a little sigh. Another moment's teasing, and then Dorian, who did so love to suck the Bull's cock, took the Bull's cock head into his yawning mouth. 

The Bull hummed and stroked Dorian's jaw. "Like that. You're so good at this, Dorian." 

The pebbled texture of Dorian's tongue, curling around the belled lip of his cock head. The tip running along the slit so the Bull huffed. All this, languid.

"You love to do this." He ran the backs of his claws along Dorian's brow, sweeping hair from it. "Don't you. Yeah."

Dorian's lower lip turned out, the slick inside brushing the underside of the Bull's cock. He took the cock deeper into his mouth. Cheeks hollowing: a wet pressure as he sucked.

"Shit," the Bull sighed. "You're gorgeous like this. On your knees. Making me feel good. So good of you, doing this for me."

As Dorian slid back, the Bull's cock reemerged from the swollen redness of Dorian's lips. The cock head popped from those lips, and Dorian looked irritably up at the Bull.

"Don't look at me," he snapped, catching the Bull's dipping cock in a hand, "look at the mirrors," and with sudden savagery he bent to suck as much of the Bull's cock into his mouth as he might, in a single swooping movement.

The Bull jerked. "Shit--" Dorian moaned and nipped very lightly at the Bull's aching shaft, a dismissal of the apology in the Bull's mouth. So he swallowed it, as Dorian swallowed and slipped lower.

The Bull looked at the mirror directly facing them. Loose belt, the ends framing Dorian. His own large hands, left cradling the back of Dorian's head, right rubbing at Dorian's shoulder. Dorian's shoulders flexed as he stroked at the Bull: a hand at the Bull's balls, thumb rolling them against his curling fingers. Spine a sinuous, undulating column nestled in defined muscle, tightening and easing under his smooth, sweating skin. 

The Bull moved his hips, and in the mirror he watched how Dorian's head fell back; his arse, perched on his heels, pushed out. Again, the Bull moved. Again, Dorian groaned. His tongue embraced the Bull's shaft; he traced the thick vein running hotly through the Bull's cock; at the end he kissed and tongued at the cock head. Each inch, revealed in the mirror sidelong. The knob in Dorian's throat bobbing. His lips stretched around the Bull's cock, red lips, turned out to suck.

The Bull said, "Dorian," and he carded his fingers through Dorian's hair. He saw how Dorian's lashes fluttered, reflected. How his lid lifted. Pupil blown. Dorian looked up, in the mirror, to meet the Bull's gaze as he pulled his lips back to slide his teeth down the Bull's cock.

"Fuck," said the Bull. "Shit."

Dorian laughed around the Bull's cock and swallowed. Groaning himself, the Bull watched Dorian's throat raptly in the mirror, looking to see if his throat might bulge as he swallowed the Bull's cock down it. His balls smacked Dorian's lips, and the hair of Dorian's mustache tickled at his groin. 

Dorian blinked languorously, a deliberate show. The Bull rocked, rocked, rocked. Without the mirror he might not have seen how Dorian reached up to play with his nipple piercing. Finger looped through it to tug as he swallowed in pulses. Throat squeezed so tightly about the Bull's cock. The soft, heated skin of Dorian's plush lower lip brushing at the Bull's tight and throbbing balls.

"Shit," the Bull breathed again, " _shit_ , you look so good. Beautiful. Pull at that ring. Yeah, like that. Do it again."

Dorian caught the ring on the tip of his finger, the nail of it, a little flick to tease before he put the finger through again to pull. Sweat marked his throat, his temple. Drool wetted his chin. Mustache, too. Hated to muss up his 'stache but damn did he look delicious like this, wrecked and drooling and pulling at his nipple for the Bull but, too, for himself. 

The mirror before them showed how Dorian's hips moved in slow circles. Ass tightening and relaxing and seizing again in those tight-cut trousers. He'd be aching now to be touched. Precome staining his scanty underthings, the way the Bull's precome stained the sweet, hot inside of Dorian's throat. 

"Yeah," said the Bull as Dorian withdrew to breath, "mirrors was genius. You want to get one of these for my room?" Dorian grinned and bent to play with the Bull's cock on his tongue, between his teeth. "Or yours?" The Bull's breath came fast. His balls like hot stones. "Put it on the ceiling? Behind the headboard?"

Dorian's hands dropped to touch his own chest, to claw at his nipples. The gold ring flashed in the mirror. 

"Gonna fuck you under it." The Bull thought of it, Dorian's ecstasy reflected in every gleaming surface. "Gonna fuck you so hard in your ass you'll get to see what you look like when you wail, and beg for more-- My hand on your dick." The Bull licked at his teeth. "Come on your chest, your come, 'cause you got so hot you couldn't hold back. How beautiful you look when you're moaning and coming down while I'm still fucking you. Prettiest fucking thing I ever saw."

Dorian moaned in his throat. His fingers picked at his nipple, the ring caught on a nail. His back, tightening, ass rubbing his heels. Oh, shit, yeah. Ceiling, headboard. Every fucking wall if he got to see Dorian desperate like this. 

"You want it," said the Bull. Dorian licked at his shaft. A hand left off his chest to grab the Bull's balls and roll them. "Want me to--mark you up. Fill you up so you can't walk. Make you mine."

Dorian's fingers were hot on the Bull's balls; he stroked them in his palm. He was rising up off his heels now, rising and sinking, fine ass working as his dick throbbed in his trousers. 

The Bull panted. "Get you so fucked it won't matter what anybody else says. Beautiful and fucked and touching yourself under that mirror, pulling my come out of your ass just to see it on your thighs."

He left his nipple. The ring bounced once. Dorian slipped a hand desperately between his legs. 

"Yeah," the Bull growled, "got you so hot you can't hold back no mo--" 

He broke off with a guttural noise. His orgasm tore through him. Jerking, jerking: the Bull came down Dorian's throat. He gripped Dorian's face then pulled his hands away. Don't force him to take it. 

Greedily, Dorian took it. He rose from his heels and grabbed the Bull's hips and swallowed everything. Sucked it all from him. 

The Bull's thighs ached. His balls ached. At last Dorian released him. A final weak spurt dotted Dorian's lips with white come, his mustache, his licking tongue. 

The mustache would fuss Dorian later. Now he licked the come from his lips. A drip slid to his chin.

"So," he said hoarsely, breathless. "I take it you enjoyed the mirrors."

"Get up here so I can fuck your ass with my fingers till you come," said the Bull.

Dorian sighed happily and stood to unbutton his trousers.

*

Again. Dick-deep in Dorian's gorgeous ass. The Bull dug his fingers into those cheeks as Dorian rubbed his face against the Bull's discarded coat and swore. Dorian was staring into the mirror, watching, avidly, each of the Bull's hard thrusts. His cock nearly pulling out then driving in again.

"Again," Dorian husked. "Again. Harder."

"Always bossing me around." Sweat slicked the Bull's chest. His belly shook with every deep driven fuck, and Dorian smiled at him in the mirror. "Think you forgot who's in charge here."

"Treating me like glass."

"You won't be able to sit without hurting."

"Mm," said Dorian, eyes so dark as he gazed at the Bull's reflection, gazing at Dorian's reflection. "But every time I sit I'll remember how I drove you absolutely wild for me."

If you knew, thought the Bull. A black and shadowed mirror waited for the Bull. A thing he did not know. 

"Watch your face," the Bull warned him as he began, gradually, to quicken his strokes.

"I'd rather watch yours," said Dorian, though he gathered the Bull's coat to use as a pillow. "They were wrong, you know. That red-headed tart."

"Language," the Bull chided. He remembered how she'd laughed behind her moon and sun mask, scandalized as Aginas introduced the court to his companions.

Dorian reached back to stroke the Bull's taut wrist.

"Pas bête," he said in his rough Orlesian, "mais une merveille."

The Bull, overcome, stroked Dorian's slicked back. Dorian shivered tremendously under his touch.

"Sweet," the Bull said lowly.

"Pas sucré," said Dorian, looking from the mirror to its feet. "Faim."

"I like sweet things," said the Bull. "Look up for me. I want to see your face."

Dorian obeyed. His gaze was softened. He looked at the Bull in the mirror. 

"I'm afraid," Dorian said, still rasping, "that if anyone here is sweet, it's surely you."

"Sweet talker," said the Bull. It sat on his tongue, likewise sweet but sour, too, with the newness, the word he held behind his teeth.

Instead the Bull gave what Dorian asked for, a hard fuck that hardened, Dorian scrabbling at the floor and rocking on the Bull's cock and shouting Bull, you bastard, you fiend, stop holding back. Till he had Dorian inarticulate and pulling at his own hair and dryly sobbing as the Bull struck his prostate with every stroke. Till Dorian groaned and came across the Bull's coat, with the Bull's cock swollen in his ass.

Beautiful. Beastly. Dorian, the Bull's. The Bull bent to kiss the easing curve of Dorian's nape, and Dorian sighed his name. Bull. Bull.

"Kadan," he murmured very quietly to the short, coarse hairs, quietly so Dorian could not hear it. Not yet, he thought. But soon. He thought this, too.

Then the Bull came again, cock pulsing as he seated deep in Dorian, filling Dorian as Dorian had filled him. Like a person cherished.

*

The Bull ordered four long mirrors from Val Royeaux. Chocolates, too. The good ones. 


End file.
